


bottoms up

by hanzios



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender AU, Drunken Flirting, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, drunk jackson is the best jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Miller sports a nasty cut above his eyebrow during one of his bartending shifts. A drunk Jackson takes notice.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Monty Green/Harper McIntyre
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a short lil modern au since i've been craving some cocktails lately lol

Miller isn’t a stranger to going to work with a massive headache.

He has gotten used to having suffered a few punches before he takes his shift at the local bar, covering up his cuts and bruises with wonky bandages. His father certainly disapproves of his profession, and the injuries are the prime reason why.

But it’s not like he’s getting beat up _that_ hard. A few minor bruises are nothing compared to his opponent that night – a large, muscled man who fights with his fists instead of his head. Many would think boxing is just pure brawn, but Miller could prove them wrong. (His Dad has tried to convince him to shift his strength to police work, but the younger Miller wouldn’t budge a bit.)

He doesn’t bother covering the large cut on his right eyebrow as he settles behind the bar. The entire room is busy, and he has a job to do.

“Hey, don’t bleed on the drinks,” Bellamy teases from beside him, shaking his cocktail shaker.

“It stopped bleeding ages ago, asshole,” Miller retorts with a smirk on his face. He takes a customer’s order and proceeds to gather the alcohol.

He quickly finishes the drink and hands it to the young woman before turning to another patron.

“Just four bottles of your best beer, please,” the man says, two palms resting on top of the counter. Miller’s eyes scan him within a second, quick to tell that he’s new here. Handsome, too. With large, kind eyes and a pair of full lips.

“Sure I can’t offer you anything stronger?” Miller asks as he grabs the bottles from the icebox below.

“Ah,” the man clicks his tongue, shifting his weight to an elbow. “Have anything in mind?”

Miller raises a brow as he pops open the beers’ caps. “Haven’t been to a bar before?” he asks sarcastically, a slight smile playing on the corner of his lips.

The customer only chuckles, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t go out much, if that’s what you’re implying.” There’s a hint of embarrassment on his voice, and Miller considers it kinda cute.

“Fair enough,” Miller shrugs. He sets the four bottles on the counter, but the man only eyes them. The bartender sets his hands against the edge of the wood, a challenging look on his face. “What’s your poison? I’ll whip something up for you.”

He ponders for a moment, squinting his eyes, before saying, “Bourbon. I like bourbon.”

“Hmm. Interesting. And you _do_ seem like the sweet type,” Miller comments, already turning to gather the ingredients behind him. He doesn’t have the time to see the man’s flustered reaction, the tips of his ears reddening. “I got just the thing.”

Miller makes a point of putting on a show as he assembles the drink, coolly pouring the bourbon into the tin after the other ingredients. He shakes the shaker to the rhythm of the bar’s music, acutely aware of the handsome stranger’s eyes glued on him. After a while, he breaks the seal and strains the beautiful orange drink into a chilled glass.

Once he’s done with the garnish, he slides the drink across the counter.

“Wow,” the man says, an impressed smile on his face. Once he takes a sip, his eyes widen. _“Wow.”_ He beams at Miller, who’s bearing a similar grin. “That’s delicious.”

“I know,” he replies smugly.

“Y–“

“Jackson!” a blonde woman suddenly appears beside the customer, a hand on his arm. “Stop flirting with the bartender and get us our drinks,” she teases, casting a quick look at Miller.

“Clarke, I wasn’t–“

“ _Sure_ you weren’t,” she says, unconvinced, grabbing the four bottles and walking into the crowd.

Jackson – the name suits him – turns to Miller, almost looking apologetic. He fishes his wallet from his pocket and hands over a credit card. “Open a tab,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll be ordering more of your drinks… uh…”

“Miller,” he replies, taking the card. “I’m here all night, Jackson.” He lets the suggestiveness drawl out of his tongue – something Jackson doesn’t seem to miss. The corner of his lips tick upward as he grabs his glass of Kimoto.

“Cheers,” Jackson says before following his friend.

Someone bumps Miller’s shoulder, and he turns to find Bellamy cheekily smiling at him.

“What?” Miller asks, unamused.

“ _Someone’s got a crush,_ ” Bellamy teases with a sickly-sweet sing-song voice.

“Dickhead,” Miller bites without venom, unable to contain a grin from escaping his mouth. Bellamy only shoots him a knowing smirk before sauntering off to attend to a customer. 

His shift goes on as usual, and Miller, in his best efforts, tries to pretend his eyes don’t casually land on the booth of friends across the room. Specifically, to the handsome brown-eyed man who’d caught his interest at first glance. Unfortunately, the bartender’s view is obscured by a head of blonde hair – the same woman who’d called on Jackson earlier – and so Miller tries (and fails) not to look _too_ conspicuous.

God knows Bellamy wouldn’t make him forget about it if he seemed too eager. He’s Miller’s best friend, sure, but sometimes the man can get on his nerves. (And hey, isn’t that what best friends are for?)

Eventually, though, Miller gets pulled into his work as the night continues. His scar sears at times, but he merely just ignores it, serving customers as best he can to get good tips.

At some point, service begins to die down. It’s usually around 3AM when people start to go home either alone or with newfound company. Miller is cleaning the counter when someone clears his throat in front of him.

When he looks up, a smirk instantly forms on his face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jackson slurs, slumping into the stool. Miller’s dealt with enough drunk people to know that the man is _hammered._ His amusement then turns to concern when he looks behind him and finds his friends’ booth empty.

_Jesus, did they leave him alone like this?_

“You good, Jackson?” he asks, setting the rag down.

The other man is only intensely staring at his face with half-lidded eyes as if dissecting a specimen under a microscope. Miller’s hand self-consciously reaches for the aching wound on his head.

“How’d that happen?” Jackson asks, tilting his head slightly.

Miller shrugs. “I’m an underground boxer. It comes with the job.”

“That looks bad.” Jackson visibly cringes.

The bartender scoffs, entertained. “What are you, a doctor?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Jackson straightens his back, a small smile plastered on his face. He tries to look smug, but it only comes across as endearing. Miller is _certainly_ whipped.

“Can I get you anything? Some juice or water or…?”

“Ice!” Jackson instantly proclaims. His eyes widen at his volume. He repeats with a small voice, “Uh, can I have ice, please?”

Miller shakes his head, chuckling, as he gets below the bar to put some ice cubes on an empty glass. When he slides it over to Jackson, the doctor reaches across the counter to grab the towel draped on Miller’s shoulder. The bartender just stands there, shocked, as Jackson pours the ice into the towel, wrapping it tightly.

“Come here,” he instructs, and Miller obeys reluctantly. He leans forward, unable to take his eyes off of Jackson’s face. The doctor presses the cold compress into Miller’s wound, and he winces at the initial contact.

“Will I need to pay a fee for this?” Miller jokes, trying to suppress the butterflies in his chest. His face is so close to Jackson’s – so close he can smell the mixture of alcohol and soda from the man’s breath.

Jackson cracks a smile, and _oh God,_ he looks even prettier up close. “You really need to take care of yourself. Handsome guy like you can’t afford getting beat up every week.”

Miller’s eyebrows rise at that, perpetually entertained at drunk Jackson’s newfound confidence. He decides to go along with it. “No? Some people think scars are hot, you know.”

Jackson makes a face that makes Miller laugh. “I see enough scars at work, thank you very much. Trust me, none of them are sexy.”

Miller mocks offense. “Ouch. That hurts more than this.” He points to his temple.

That seems to sober Jackson’s eyes slightly. He pulls the ice away for a bit, frowning. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looks so earnest, it makes Miller’s heart melt. He smiles.

“I know.” Miller takes Jackson’s hand to press the compress to his head. Once their skin touches, he couldn’t seem to let go. The doctor’s eyes bounce between their hands to Miller’s face.

Jackson, intoxicated and most surely not thinking straight, leans forward. But as much as Miller would love to taste the man’s luscious lips, he stops him by cupping his chin.

Miller smiles slyly at Jackson’s big, puppy dog eyes.

“Can’t do that, doc,” he says. “I’ll only kiss you when you’re sober.”

Jackson pulls away, pouting. Miller only chuckles.

“You want your bill?”

Jackson nods as Miller guides his hand into the counter. The bartender gets to the register and whips up a receipt, swiping Jackson’s card. Before he gives him the receipt, though, Miller takes his pen and scrawls his name and number on the back of the paper.

He slides it with the card over the counter. “If you ever wanna try that again, you can call me. Hopefully, when you’re sober.”

Suddenly, the same blonde woman appears beside Jackson, seemingly coming from the direction of the restroom.

What was her name again… Claire? Clary? Oh! _Clarke._

Clarke looks between them in curiosity. “Okay, Jackson, let’s get you home. Thanks,” Her eyes land on the paper on Jackson’s hand. “Nathan.”

There’s a smirk on the corner of her lips as he helps Jackson up. Miller could only watch as Jackson gives him a weak wave of the hand. He returns it with a smile.

The woman turns to him once more before they leave.

“I’ll make sure he calls,” she says, teasing.

Miller lowers his lids momentarily, pouting his lips and giving her a thumbs up. He watches them as they exit the bar, a lovesick smile on his face.

“You’re _good,_ ” Bellamy comments, emerging from the storage room.

Miller smirks, unable to ignore the swelling on his chest. “What can I say? I’m handsome and naturally charming.”

Bellamy snorts. “Debatable.” He then points a finger to the counter. Miller turns to find Jackson’s makeshift compress in the middle of a puddle, the ice melting. “Clean that up, will you, loverboy?” When he looks back, Bellamy has already disappeared out the door.

Miller shakes his head, going back to work. He picks up the wet rag, his fingertips buzzing, excited at the prospect of a phone call that may come the following night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Jackson asks Miller out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was only planning to write a small date scene, but i went crazy and wrote a 3k+ word chapter. clearly, i have no self-control. 
> 
> so uhhhh enjoy!

Jackson paces back and forth in his bedroom, still in his dirty clothes from last night, save from his pants. He looks like a maniac walking around in his underwear, phone to his ear as he tries to send a voice mail to a practical stranger. He can try to reason that Clarke nearly blew up his message box, texting him to _do it_ a million times, but what good would that do?

“Hey, uh, it’s me… I mean, I was at the bar last night, and, uh–“

Delete.

“Good morning! I’m Jackson, I was wond– wait, you don’t know me, I’m–“

Delete.

“Hi! Um, do you wanna date? _Shit–_ “

Delete.

He flops down to his bed, still battling a massive hangover. The world starts to spin as he tries to regain consciousness. After clearing his head a little, Jackson moves to a sitting position, pointing the phone’s microphone to his face.

“Hey, there. It’s me. From last night? Uh, I don’t know if you remember, but…”

+

_“…It’s me. From last night?”_

Miller starts to blink awake as he listens to the voicemail, trying to pinpoint the stranger behind the random number. His brain, still fuzzy, starts to recollect the events of last night. In an instant, he realizes who it is.

 _Oh, shit_. He bolts up with widened eyes, turning up the volume.

_“Uh, I don’t know if you remember, but I was being drunk and embarrassing and, um, you gave me your number.”_

Miller smirks.

_“Anyway. Ignore this if it’s weird, but do you wanna, I don’t know, grab a bite or something? I’m not working this weekend, so I’m free tonight. Just text me back here, uh, if you want to.”_

There’s a nervousness in Jackson’s voice that oddly draws Miller in.

_“Um… yeah. That’s it. Have a nice day!”_

Beep.

It doesn’t take long for Miller to dial the number back, his chest beating wildly. He pulls up the duvet over his naked torso, playing with the frayed edges as he waits for a reply. By the third ring, somebody picks up.

“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound like he just woke up.

“Good morning,” Jackson chuckles from the phone. “I take it you got my voicemail?”

“Yeah, I did,” Miller replies, grinning. He tilts his head. “Why do you sound normal? It’s still 10AM and you were hammered last night.”

“Ah. I _sound_ fine, but my head still hurts like hell.” That earns a snicker from Miller. Jackson continues, “Besides, I’ve had to work through hangovers during residency. I know my ways.”

Miller raises a brow and challenges, “And you said you rarely went out.”

“ _Recently_ ,” Jackson stresses in a teasing tone. The both of them laugh over the phone, Miller in awe at how easily they’re clicking with each other.

When the laughter dies down, Jackson asks, “Anyway, where were we?”

“Oh, I believe you were asking me out on a proper date,” Miller says, aiming for seductive but _just_ missing the mark.

“Yes. That,” Jackson chuckles. “I’m free after 5PM. You can have me by then.”

The proposition laced with an unintended sexual undertone warms up Miller’s lower body. He hugs himself further with the duvet, ignoring the heat spreading up his chest.

“Lucky you, I’m not working tonight. We can have dinner,” Miller suggests. “Pick a cuisine.”

“Mexican.”

Miller smirks. “Wow, you had _that_ locked and loaded.”

“It’s the hangover talking.” He can almost _hear_ Jackson’s sheepish look through the phone.

“Sure,” Miller teases, making Jackson chuckle. “I know the perfect place that serves _the best_ tacos in the city. Let me text you the address and let’s meet there, say, 6PM?”

“Perfect,” Jackson replies.

“Perfect,” Miller repeats. “See you then?”

“Yeah. Looking forward to it. Bye.”

Once Miller ends the call, he flops down to his bed, clutching his phone over his chest. He feels ridiculous being so excited for this first date. But the electricity between him and Jackson last night has survived until the morning, continuing to buzz through his fingertips, and waiting for its next fix.

+

It’s around 5 when Miller is checking himself out on the mirror. He won’t admit he’s tried on three different outfits before settling on a plain black shirt with his green bomber jacket. Earlier that afternoon, he took a trip to the corner store and bought a pack of bandages. Miller attaches one right on his cut; it’s more for Jackson than it is for him.

“Look at you all dressed up,” Harper, Miller’s roommate, quips once he walks out to their living room. Monty’s there, too, an eyebrow raised. He whistles as Miller rolls his eyes.

“You’re as embarrassing as Bellamy,” Miller says, already walking backwards to the door.

The couple exchanges a look before slyly smiling at Miller. “Don’t stay up too late,” Monty teases, earning a laugh from Harper.

“Yes, Mom. Yes, Dad,” he retorts snarkily, turning the knob and seeing himself out.

He could hear his friends laughing from behind the door, but he merely ignores it. Miller gets why this is so amusing to them; he hasn’t been with someone since Bryan And, _God¸_ that was more than a year ago already. Since then, his friends have _generously_ – note the sarcasm – set him up with a couple blind dates that never stuck.

Miller prides himself in not having a type. Yes, he appreciates good-looking men, but he doesn’t hand out his number to drunk strangers at his place of work. He’s never usually one to make the first move.

But there was just something about Jackson that made him go for it.

Miller arrives at the Mexican food truck near the park pretty quickly. Traffic wasn’t that bad and the Uber driver was quick without being reckless. It’s a quarter to 6 when he checks his phone, receiving a text from Jackson that he’s on his way.

He passes the time by scrolling through Twitter, and he’s about to reply to one of Bellamy’s ridiculous tweets when he hears someone walk up to him.

When he looks up, it’s Jackson’s face in front of him, looking as handsome as ever.

“Hey,” Jackson says, a hand in his pocket.

Miller subtly scans his eyes down Jackson before greeting him with a smile, “Hey, you.” The man is wearing a simple beige cashmere sweater, fitting at just the right spots to highlight his frame.

“Would it be bad to say I haven’t been here before?” Jackson asks, one of his hands gesturing to the truck as he speaks.

“Yeah, it’s kind of my deal-breaker,” Miller jokes dryly. “If you don’t know the best hidden gems in the city, we ain’t gonna work out.”

Jackson laughs, a hand on his stomach. “Oh, I see how it is. Too bad, then.”

Miller shrugs. “I’ll make an exemption. You came all this way, after all,” he smirks, walking to the truck. Jackson follows close behind.

The line isn’t that terrible, so they are able to get their food quickly. Miller gets a _tacos con Carne_ with a side of cheese nachos to share, while Jackson goes for the chicken burrito – extra spice.

“Damn, you like it hot,” Miller comments, taking a peek at Jackson’s burrito covered in red sauce. He can almost smell the abundance of chili coming off of the food.

“I mean, I can handle my spice,” Jackson says before taking a generous bite. “Eh, it’s got a little kick, but… it’s not spicy.”

Miller raises a brow as they settle into a nice stone bench around a nearby tree. The lights from the taco truck and from the streetlights around the park are enough to illuminate the scene. Once Jackson doses his food with some more hot sauce from the packet, he extends his hand to Miller.

“Wanna try it?”

Miller is never one to back down from a challenge. He feels pretty confident with his spice tolerance, so he takes a generous chunk with a lot of sauce, and instantly _,_ his mouth feels like it’s on fire.

“Oh, _God,_ how the hell do you eat that?” Miller exclaims, popping open his can of soda and taking a swig.

Jackson just shrugs, laughing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was _that_ spicy.” While Miller still tries to extinguish his tongue, Jackson adds, “My mom brought me up eating a bunch of spicy food, so, I guess that’s why this almost tastes like nothing to me.”

His face still slightly contorted, Miller says, “Your mom is a legend, then. Kudos to her.”

Jackson smiles before taking another bite. “Was.”

“Huh?” Miller swipes at his mouth before eating his taco.

“Uh, she died when I was, like, fifteen,” he explains. “I know, it’s not really ‘first date’ talk, so I’m sorry for bringing that up.” He chuckles nervously.

Miller is taken aback at how much Jackson apologizes for so little things. Maybe he’s just polite like that, maybe it’s linked to something deeper. Either way, he’s aching to peel back the mysteries behind the man in front of him.

“No, no, don’t be sorry. You can talk about whatever. As long as you don’t give me a bite of that monstrosity again.” He adds the last sentence to lighten the mood.

And it does. Jackson laughs. He laughs at all of Miller’s jokes – genuine, loud, with the corners of his eyes crinkling and everything. The sight of his bright face alone makes Miller’s heart do somersaults.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Jackson says, nodding.

“Okay,” Miller smiles. “Now, tell me about your mom…”

+

He doesn’t know how long they stay talking beneath that tree. They finish their food pretty quickly, filling in empty spaces with banter and conversation. As much as drunk Jackson amused Miller, the sober version of him is much more of a catch than Miller had originally thought.

At some point, Miller offers drinks. As a bartender, he knows the best spots in the city for good alcohol, and lucky for them, there’s a great spot just three blocks away. They throw their trash in the bin and begin walking.

This part of the city is quiet for a Friday night. Then again, most people go downtown during nights like this, instead of more residential areas with a couple food trucks and lowkey bars. They walk side-by-side on an empty street, the faint noise of the city fading in the background.

“Are you gonna tell me how you got into boxing?” Jackson asks, bumping Miller’s shoulder.

He smiles as Jackson pauses in the middle of the road. Miller slowly circles him as Jackson twists on his spot to look at him.

“I was a troublemaker as a kid, you know,” Miller shrugs, continuing to walk around Jackson’s space. “Got into fights a lot. My dad’s a police captain, so he always told me to channel all that fire into something more productive. I’m sure he meant police work, but, unfortunately for him, I liked boxing better.”

Jackson chuckles, stopping Miller by grabbing his arm gently. “Sounds like you found your passion. Like I did with medicine.”

Miller snorts, allowing himself to be pulled closer into Jackson’s sphere. “Taking a few punches is hardly the same as saving literal lives, but sure.”

“But you love what you do, and that’s what matters,” Jackson says, a hand on Miller’s waist.

“I know what you’re doing, Jackson,” Miller says, his face inching closer to the other man’s. Teasing, he laughs, clasping Jackson’s shoulder and pulling away at arm’s length. He can feel Jackson’s grip on the hem of his jacket.

“What am I doing?” he asks innocently.

“You’re trying to kiss me on the first date,” Miller replies, his hand falling to Jackson’s upper arm as they finally continue to move up the empty road.

“Is it working?” Jackson bobs his head, pulling Miller by the waist as they halt to a stop.

Miller’s eyes fall to Jackson’s plump lips, and remembers how badly he wanted to kiss him since last night. And right here, right now, they’re both as sober as you can get.

So, Miller just grins and leans close, muttering “I hate you,” before meeting Jackson’s lips. And the moment their mouths collide, he can taste the heat and the spice in Jackson’s tongue. Miller pulls away, laughing, saying, “Your mouth is _spicy_.”

Jackson bursts out in laughter, burying his head into the nape of Miller’s neck. He can feel the other man’s laughter vibrating out of his body and coming into his own, the both of them clutching each other in the middle of an empty street at night. They probably look like maniacs, but none of them seem to care.

As far as first kisses go, this is definitely the most memorable one.

+

Once they reach the bar, they’re holding hands. They haven’t even had alcohol in their system, and yet Miller is feeling so intoxicated by Jackson’s warm palm against his.

The spot they go to isn’t like the bar he works at; it’s toned down, sophisticated, with a dim orange light washing the room. There’s a fair number of people around the booths and pub tables, mostly like Miller and Jackson who are paired up and on a date.

“You know I fully expect you to choose our drinks, right?” Jackson says from behind Miller. When he turns, there’s a small smile on the other man’s face.

Miller raises a brow. “Is this why you date bartenders?”

“Only the cute ones,” Jackson flirts, giving Miller a light kiss on the cheek before going off to find a table. Miller stands there, dumbfounded, the spot where Jackson’s lips touched him burning.

He can’t believe his luck. He really can’t.

Miller orders two drinks, carefully hand-picked to suit Jackson’s taste. He’s inwardly annoyed that one of the drinks is served in a mason jar, but he just thanks the bartender and goes. He’s had shitty customers before; he wasn’t about to be one.

The grin on Jackson’s face when he spots him warms him up once again.

“Chef’s pick,” Miller says, sliding into the tall stool. His knees bump into Jackson’s a little, glad for the little bit of contact.

“Those look pretty,” Jackson comments, folding his arms over the table.

Quickly, Miller introduces the two bourbon-based cocktails – a New York Sour and a Spicy Bourbon Sidecar. Jackson raises both his brows, a slight tug on the corner of his lips.

“Spicy bourbon?” he says. “You know me so well.”

Miller shrugs like it’s nothing, matching Jackson’s playful look. “It only took two nights, too.”

He inches the sidecar a bit closer into Jackson’s hand, the other man accepting it gratefully. He sneaks a look at Miller before taking a sip. Jackson’s eyes widen once the orange liquid meets his tongue.

“Oh, _wow_ ,” he exclaims, setting the glass down on the table. “Definitely got a kick to it. I never thought drinks could be, you know… _spicy._ ”

Miller chuckles, taking a sip of his own drink. He lets Jackson try his New York Sour, but the man seems to prefer his ancho-rimmed liquor far better.

“So,” Jackson starts, lightly treading the conversation. By the wariness in his voice, Miller starts to get a little worried. “Do you always give out your number to drunk patrons? Or was that just a one-time thing?”

Miller snorts into his drink, thankful he doesn’t spill a drop. “Honest answer is no; this is definitely uncharted territory. Flirty answer is, only the handsome doctors.” He sends back Jackson’s line right back at him, and that earns him a burst of hearty laughter. Miller finds the other man’s happiness infectious.

“Yeah? You liked me making a fool of myself?”

“ _No,_ you were _adorable_ ,” Miller coos, bumping Jackson’s knees.

“Like a helpless puppy.”

Miller reaches over to swipe the back of his curled index finger over Jackson’s cheek. “Yeah,” he teases. Jackson drops his head to grin at the ground before turning to Miller once again.

Their conversation lasts longer than it did on the taco truck. They down a few more glasses of alcohol, gaining a little bit of liquid courage. By the middle of the night, Miller’s hand has wandered over Jackson’s, rubbing the back of his palm subconsciously as he listens to the man talk about his career. Miller notices how looser Jackson’s tongue becomes after a few drinks; before that, Miller was mostly the one sharing about his life.

It’s late – too late – when Miller sneaks a glance at his phone.

He almost doesn’t want to mention the time, afraid this wonderful night would come to an end.

“I think we should get out of here,” he says with a tinge of sadness in his voice, his thumb pressing on Jackson’s palm.

“Your place or mine?”

Miller pulls his head a little at the proposal. He didn’t mean for his statement to come off as seductive, but he’s not complaining. His mouth forms a smirk.

“I have roommates and I live 20 minutes from here,” Miller says.

“My place it is, then,” Jackson boldly declares.

They both stand up and head to the exit. Just as they’re standing in front of the building, Miller places a hand on Jackson’s waist.

“You’re not drunk, are you?”

“Definitely tipsy, but nothing like some water couldn’t fix,” Jackson says, linking their hands together.

Miller smiles. “Good,” he replies, before leaning in to give Jackson a kiss.

They wait outside for a while for their Uber, the cool air not too tough to handle. Miller is surprised at how easy silences between them are, and how one little smile from Jackson can send him grinning like a lovesick schoolgirl. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking; maybe it’s purely him.

One thing’s for sure: he likes Jackson.

And, surprisingly, Jackson likes him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's funny how i intended this to be lil oneshot but now it's becoming this fairly long multi-chaptered thing. anyway, one last scene and it's gonna be the ~bed~ scene, wink wink. it's probably still not gonna be explicit, but it'll be the last chapter :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their date ends in Jackson's apartment.

Miller is amazed when he walks into Jackson’s apartment.

It’s huge – definitely twice as big as his and Harper’s shared apartment, with a kitchen island and a large dishwasher and enough space for a 30-person party, _minimum_. The walls are painted a light, relaxing brown, and the floor is a beautiful dark maple. There’s a tall bookshelf pressed against one wall, and, despite the space in it, most of Jackson’s books are scattered all over his apartment.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Jackson says sheepishly, trying to clear his dining table littered with opened books and stray pieces of paper. “We had difficulty diagnosing a patient today, so I had to crank open the old books again to brainstorm.”

“No, it’s fine,” Miller says, waving his hand. Jackson looks up in the middle of stacking his books. “Don’t clean up on my account. Besides, this place still makes my bedroom look _immaculate_.”

Jackson chuckles, but is still hesitant. Miller only walks over and places a hand over the other man’s.

“I told you. I like the mess. Makes me feel like you’re still human after all,” he teases, playfully shoving Jackson on the shoulder.

The doctor raises a brow. “What does that mean?”

Miller’s hands wander to the edge of the table, shrugging. He looks away for a second before meeting Jackson’s eyes once again. He says, “ _Y’know_. You’re this gorgeous doctor who’s funny – _but doesn’t think he is_ – and says ‘sorry’ as a sentence starter.”

“Sor–“ Jackson catches himself, laughing as Miller makes a face. “Okay, okay.” He tilts his head before adding, “You’re quite a catch yourself, Nate.”

“Oh, pray tell, what the hell do you see in me?” Miller says, only half-joking. He stands fully upright, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Jackson takes a step closer.

“You’re a handsome guy, with pretty eyes,” he says, cupping Miller’s cheeks with both hands. “And you’re hardworking and funny and easy to be around.” Miller is just staring at Jackson, admiring his face from up close. “Also, the band-aid…” His eyes land on Miller’s forehead momentarily, “… is kind of turning me on.”

Miller releases a laugh, gripping Jackson’s wrist. “ _Really?”_ he smirks. “Last night, you said scars weren’t sexy.”

“I’m stupid when I’m drunk,” Jackson replies. Miller only nods, still beaming.

“ _Okay…_ ” He moves his head closer, but still leaving enough distance between them. “If you’re so turned on, what are you gonna do about it?”

It takes less than a second for Jackson to capture Miller’s mouth, his kiss hungry and desperate. Miller’s eagerness seeps in, as well, playing with the belt loop of Jackson’s pants. He tugs him a bit closer as he enters his tongue into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson lets out a little moan, and it only makes Miller’s desire burn hotter.

He takes like bourbon and spice, and _god,_ is it turning Miller on.

“C’mere,” Jackson breathes into Miller’s mouth, directing them towards a hallway. They continue to make out as they tumble around the apartment, bumping into walls and laughing like a bunch of lovesick fools.

Jackson fumbles for the knob in his bedroom, pushing open the door. Once they’re let in, Miller presses Jackson against the wall, his hands wandering around the man’s torso underneath his sweater. He’s not surprised at all to find smooth, hard skin, feeling so good under his palms.

There’s something about making out in the dark that makes Miller feel like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time. The difference is, he’s much more skilled now, knowing exactly what to do to pleasure the man in front of him.

Miller moves to trail kisses down Jackson’s bearded jaw until he reaches his neck, sinking his teeth into the skin gently. It only makes Jackson’s hip thrust forward as his hands try to take off Miller’s jacket.

It’s feverish and quick, what happens next. Once they kick off their shoes and tumble into the bed, the both of them are fast in discarding their shirts.

“Oh, damn,” Miller exclaims as he sees Jackson’s bare chest lit by the moonlight. It’s unbelievable how good he lucks under Miller, his chest flushed with a tint of red against olive skin. There’s also a very visible hickey on the nape of Jackson’s neck, and Miller is monumentally proud of being the one to leave that mark.

“Oh, damn to you, too,” Jackson replies with a smirk, running his hand along Miller’s chest.

They capture lips once again, and roll over so that Jackson’s on top of him now, taking Miller by surprise. Not that he minds, anyway. He’s _into_ feeling the other man’s weight on him, and he’s certainly not opposed to the idea of Jackson taking the lead.

The doctor moves down to nibble at Miller’s neck, right above the clavicle. Miller’s hands thread through Jackson’s short hair, an aching desire firing down his member. After Jackson is satisfied with the dark purple hickey he leaves on Miller’s skin, he begins to pull down.

Miller sinks his head into the soft pillows, readying himself before he realizes Jackson had stopped. He raises his head a little, confused, but his head still filled with lust.

“Jackson?”

Jackson has stopped in front of Miller’s belly, fingers softly rubbing his skin. Even from the minimal lighting, he could tell something serious has eclipsed Jackson’s expression.

“This looks bad,” he says, and Miller instantly knows what he means.

The other day’s fight didn’t just leave him a scar on his forehead, but also a nasty bruise on his abdomen. It’s been slightly painful every time Jackson accidentally bumps into it, but Miller’s minor masochism got the better of him.

“That’s nothing,” Miller says, propping himself up with his elbows.

“Are you sure? I can take it slow.”

A part of Miller is annoyed that they’re stopping, but a larger part of him is endeared at Jackson’s genuine concern. He places a hand on Jackson’s cheek, smiling.

“I’m fine, doc,” he says, making Jackson snort.

“Okay,” Jackson says, pressing a small kiss on top of Miller’s bruise. He looks up at Miller again. “Do you have any more injuries I should be worried about?”

“No,” Miller assures, running his hand along the side of Jackson’s face. “You can kiss me, touch me anywhere you like.”

“Okay,” Jackson says again. He crawls forward and kisses Miller, this time with less desperation but more tenderness.

Miller appreciates that about Jackson. His maturity and age shines through even in the bedroom, and Miller wonders if this is what it’s always like with older men. Or maybe if it’s just Jackson. He doesn’t dwell on it further, his erection already growing more impatient by the second.

Gentleness turns to passion pretty quickly after that.

More clothing is discarded, and condoms are soon acquired.

Like he promised, Jackson is slow, yet sensual, his mouth working wonders on Miller’s exposed skin. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had oral sex, but Jackson’s skilled tongue sends Miller moaning loudly into the night. After he’s done, Miller returns the favor.

When they finish into each other, they’re sticky and sweaty and spent. Jackson collapses into Miller’s arms, saying a small ‘thanks for that’ as he drapes a hand over Miller’s chest. He replies with a ‘no, thank _you_ ’ before they laugh and switch into a cuddling position.

Miller feels very comfortable with his arms around Jackson, his chest pressed against the other man’s back. Warm. He kisses the back of Jackson’s neck before closing his eyes. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep after that.

+

He wakes up to find Jackson sitting on the edge of the bed, still naked, save for his underwear. Miller stays quiet and appreciates the muscles on Jackson’s back, his eyes scanning up to his black unruly post-sex hair until he couldn’t take it anymore. He crawls behind the other man, pressing a kiss into Jackson’s bare shoulder.

“G’morning,” Jackson sleepily says, leaning his head to Miller’s.

“Morning,” he replies with a smile, kissing the corner of Jackson’s mouth. He looks down to find Jackson’s phone in his hand. The clock reads 7:03AM. Clearly, it’s too early for either of them to be awake.

“What happened?” Miller asks.

“They need me at the hospital,” Jackson says, leaving it at that.

“I thought you had the weekend off?” Miller is massaging the other man as they talk, releasing the tension from Jackson’s shoulders.

“Duty calls.” He turns around. His eyes are still half-lidded, but he’s got this lopsided smile stuck on his face that Miller desperately wants to kiss. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Feel free to use the guest bathroom near the kitchen.”

“Do you eat breakfast?”

“You don’t have t–“

“C’mon,” Miller gently shoves Jackson to his feet, chuckling. “Just go shower, I’ll take care of the rest.” He admires the man’s bottom for a split second before catching himself, heat rising to his cheeks.

Jackson’s reluctant, but heads for his bathroom nonetheless. He spares a look at Miller before stepping inside.

Miller gets dressed in his pants and t-shirt, leaving his jacket on the bed. He takes the opportunity to quickly wash his face in the guest bathroom before heading to the kitchen. He’s not exactly the best cook out there, but he can make a decent eggs and bacon. According to Harper, anyway.

The doctor’s fridge is virtually empty, with mostly greens stocked up on the top shelf. Eventually, Miller finds some eggs and a pack of bacon, frying them up on a pan. While his bacon is sizzling, he goes to brew some coffee. Miller remembers Jackson last night saying he prefers it black, so he makes just that.

Right on time, Jackson emerges from the hallway with damp hair, rolling up the sleeves of his red dress shirt. Miller’s turns off the stove before serving the plates of food on the tiny bit of available space on the cramped dinner table.

“Thanks for this,” Jackson says, sliding into his chair.

Miller grabs the two cups of coffee from the kitchen island and places them down beside the food. “And here’s your coffee, just how you like it.”

Jackson thanks him again before they dig in. By the look on Jackson’s face, it seems as if Miller didn’t cook poison, which is a victory. They fall into easy conversation about the plans for the day as they eat, appreciating the splendid morning even though they probably slept for four hours each.

“You know what? This just may be the best first date I’ve ever had,” Miller says, unafraid of being so blunt.

Jackson smiles at him. “Me, too. Do you wanna do it again sometime?”

“What do you think?” Miller sarcastically taunts, kicking Jackson’s leg underneath the table.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “No need for violence.”

As Miller finishes his coffee, looking at Jackson, he imagines himself doing this every morning. His friends always tell him he falls in love very easily, and he certainly can’t deny that. But Miller doesn’t love Jackson, though; not yet. But he _likes_ him. A lot.

Jackson shoots him another warm smile before he digs into Miller’s food.

Something churns in Miller’s chest, dancing right below his ribcage.

He can’t wait to see where this thing between them goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's the most smut i've written in my life lmao.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. what was supposed to be a 1k fic turned into a 6k multi-chaptered project. and i don't regret it!


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